


Our past is everything we failed to be

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Gen, Resurrection, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-05-18 04:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: Prompto wakes up to morning sun shining through the window of his crappy flat. It may or may not take him a solid 5 minutes to realise that there was something wrong with this image.They were both alive. They were alive and together and it was before everything had gone to shit. They had a second chance.





	1. The Sun is surprising good at causing panic attacks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkleMoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/gifts).



> For SparkleMoose - it's not quite the Shiva's chosen fic that you asked for (I think. Still not exactly sure where I'm going with this) but I hope that this will fulfil the Prompto angst that you asked for. Still working on the Nyx-as-Ardyns-son so hopefully, this will tide you over, hope you like it.
> 
> I don't own FFXV.

Prompto wakes up to the morning sun shining through the window of his crappy flat.

 

To be fair, he's never been much of a morning person, so the fact that it takes him a solid 5 minutes and a cup of cheap coffee to realise that there was something wrong with that image couldn't _really_ be held against him. _(Fuck off Gladio. Noct was just as bad as he was)._ Because he had just woken up feeling better rested than he had in over a decade. He had just woken up to the morning sun, to _sunrise,_ which hadn't happened since Noct had been sucked into the crystal all of those years ago-- His heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. Because waking up to sunlight meant that Noct had won, had chased away the Scourge and brought back the Dawn, but it also meant that his _best friend was **dead**_. It meant that Noctis had _sacrificed himself_ to the fucking gods, had fulfilled his gods-damned destiny and had saved everyone. Sunlight meant that Noctis _(his brother, who he loved with all of his heart, who he would do_ anything _for)_ was gone, that Noct would never see another sunrise - would never see the sun glistening on water, wouldn't be there to build a new world, would never be crowned as king. Noct would never watch a sunset over a horizon, never spend a day on the beach, would never know a world without Daemons, would never nap on another patch of sun-warmed floor, would never come and play video games with him in this crappy flat aga--

 

\-- _Wait._

 

Prompto blinked. And then blinked again, thoroughly startled out of his downward spiral of grief and rage. He- he was in the tiny kitchen of his crappy flat. His crappy flat in the refugee quarter, that had been completely destroyed when Insomnia had been invaded. That he hadn't seen in over a decade, hadn't even thought about for nearly as long. _What the actual fuck?_ He glanced around, but everything seemed just like he remembered it being as a teenager - camera supplies piled on the kitchen countertop, schedules and bills and meal plans attached to the fridge, Chocobo alarm sitting next to his futon, a school uniform slung over the back of a chair, homework and books stuffed haphazardly into a shoulder bag, cheap posters plastered to walls, door leading to the bathroom slightly ajar. It was like the room had been taken straight out of his memories, and nostalgia hit him like a brick to the face. Things had been so much simpler when he had been this age - he was safe in the city, he had a couple of people who talked to him, this year he was about to make the best friend he would ever have, and he  knew (with the same certainty that people knew that the sky was blue and water was wet) that the sun would rise every morning. When he was this age, Noctis was still _alive_ \- hell, so was the King and all of Insomnia. The wall hadn't fallen yet. He had been _safe_ at this age, in a way that literally no-one - no matter their age - was in the future.

 

If this was a dream he almost didn't want to wake up.

 

Then his alarm started blaring, startling him into hitting his elbow into a countertop. " _Motherfucking-!"_ **Shit** , but that hurt. Clutching his elbow, he was most of the way to turn the alarm off when it occurred to him that you couldn't really feel pain in a dream. And that pain had _definitely_ felt real. That revelation caused him to trip on the end of his bed, slamming face first into the carpet on the floor. _Fuck_.

 

Of course, that was when his phone lit up - showing a half-dozen reminders, including: 'get up and dressed for school', 'wake up', 'no I'm serious, you have to get dressed for school', 'Hurry up and catch your train', 'first class today starts at 9', 'don't forget your bag or lunch again'. He groaned into the carpet, reaching out to slam a hand into the _still_ blaring alarm.

 

Never mind. He'd changed his mind. _He'd like to wake up now._

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

By the time he was sitting in his last class before lunch, he was becoming fairly certain that this wasn't actually a dream. _(Okay, he had been pretty sure of that several hours ago. But even the Nifs wouldn't torture someone by making them relive their teenage years - and Niflheim had pretty much collapsed when the emperor had died, and afterwards, everyone had banded together to try and survive until the dawn. So his only real option was that this was the Astrals fault - and, well. These_ were _the same Astrals that demanded his best friend sacrifice himself, so he wouldn't put it past them. He just, didn't think that he was important enough for them to take any sort of interest in him)._ Which meant that he was doing what Iggy would tell him too, acting as though everything was normal and gathering as much information as he could. As such, he was about 70% sure that this was actually real - or, at least, that everyone around him believed that this was real. Mostly because he still hadn't woken up, and this all felt too real to be fake, so the only real explanation was being back in the past. _(What had his life become that time travel was actually a valid option?)_ Still, he couldn't remember classes being this boring when he was this age, nor could he remember the material being this easy. Didn't change the fact that he was pretty sure that this was actually. The only thing keeping him from freaking out completely was all of his years of training and the fact that he had, probably, seen weirder things. However, he was suddenly very glad that he had always been organised, even if only by necessity- his phone had his entire schedule for the next week on it, and he had his diary in his bag which held all of his assignment dates and briefs (both when assigned and when due), test dates, dates when he had to pay his bills, dates when his parents would send him money, when he had to babysit the kids on his floor, when he was working and how much he was earning, etc. Basically, his entire life was written in that book, making it extremely simple to fall back into the routine that he had had at this age without being suspicious.

 

Though he was hungry and - when he checked his bag - he had managed to forget his lunch, _again_. No matter how organised he was, he still had a habit of forgetting things. And, no matter his memories, he was still damn clumsy when he was this age.

 

Of course, despite being fairly sure that this was actually happening, Prompto didn't actually realise what that meant until he was sitting in Chemistry class on the first day of term. Chemistry class, where Mr Fair had decided to assign partners for the class this year instead of letting people choose their own when group work was necessary. Chemistry class - where Prompto, as one of the best students in the class, was assigned to partner with Prince Noctis, to balance out the groupings. Also known as the first time he had spoken to Noct properly, despite having gone to the same school as him for years.

 

Fuck, he wasn't ready for this.

 

 _(The last time he had seen Noct, the man had been walking to his death. The King had walked with his head high and his back straight - a King in every line of his body, despite his injuries from the battle with Ardyn, despite_ knowing _that he would die in mere minutes. Prompto will remember that image for the rest of his life - remember his_ King _walking to his death to fulfil his destiny, remember his_ brother _dying to fix the Astrals mistakes._

 

 _But, most of all, he would remember the tears in his best friend's eyes when he told the 3 of them of the destiny of the Chosen King. He would remember the way the Noct didn't want to die, that after being reunited for the first time in a decade he didn't want to leave them. He would remember how his best friend had broken down, how Noctis had allowed himself to be a_ person _instead of a King, instead of a_ Chosen _, one last time._

 

 _Prompto would never forget the weight in his eyes - the grief and the anger and the resignation. Noct had known what would happen, had accepted it, but he hadn't_ wanted _it. He had hated it -hated the fact that he had been separated from his people for 10 years, unable to do anything but watch, hated that he had to die for his people rather than live for them, hated that he was abandoning them again so soon after being reunited. Noct had been a broken man - hell, they all had been - and he would never forget what he looked like then._

 

_So, Prompto wasn't ready to see a younger version of his best friend. One who hadn't yet learnt the truth of the Chosen Kings destiny. One without those all-consuming shadows in his eyes, without the knowledge that he would have to die for his people to live._

 

 _Fuck, he didn't think he would_ ever _be ready for this)_

 

_(He had died in the barren streets of Insomnia - the blood-stained streets, crumbling buildings, and darkened corners so different from the home that he had grown up in. He had died - killed by a daemon, stabbed through the chest when he had run out of ammo and the daggers that he carried weren't enough to save his life - but, over the pain and the blood and the fear, the image that would stay with him for the rest of his life - that would haunt his nightmares for years to come - would be of Noct, dead and pinned to his throne by his fathers sword)_

 

He flinched when someone sat down in the seat next to him, startled out of his thoughts. Glancing over at the boy sitting next to him, Prompto forced a friendly smile, glad that he had had a lot of experience with doing so.

 

His first thought was that Noctis looked older than he remembered him being. He didn't know if it was years of being friends with him letting him read his tells, or maybe the fact that a decade spent in near total darkness made people a lot more observant, but the shadows in Noctis' eyes were much more pronounced than Prompto had recalled for him at this age. He also looked older, with more weight on his shoulders - though he did remember Noct saying once that being around Prompto made him feel less like a Prince and more like a person - and a tiredness to his features that spoke of a sleepless night and a lot of stress. In all honesty, the boy beside reminded him a great deal of the man that Prompto had last seen - if without the scars, age lines, and premature greyness.

 

Maybe it was that familiarity, the way that the fate of the world seemed to be weighing him down, but when Prompto opened his mouth to say a greeting what came out instead was, "Frog."

 

He promptly slammed his head down onto the table, ignoring the weird looks that it got him. _Fuck_ , but he hadn't meant to say that. Not to this Noctis. Not to a Noctis who wouldn't get the joke, who wouldn't burst out laughing and reply with a joking blame towards a snake, who wouldn't understand that Prompto was trying to lighten the mood, who didn't have memories of the arguments that just the word would cause between Iggy and Gladio.

 

He really hadn't meant to say that.

 

So, needless to say, that Prompto was shocked when Noctis collapsed into great gales of laughter - as though it was the only thing that was stopping him from bursting into tears. Still, all of that could be explained by a stressed teenager finding something inappropriately funny in a nonsensical statement. Right up until he gasped out a "Lamia," in between bouts of giggling anyway.

 

He froze.

 

Because only his Noctis would have been able to understand that joke - based on the fact that they all had a habit of being turned into frogs while searching the Royal Tombs, Noct had always blamed the Lamia because it had been the first time that it had happened, starting a pattern that was both irritating and annoying. Still, after the 5th time, being turned into a frog became more of an annoyance over an inconvenience - especially after they grew to expect it and plan around it. Only his Noct would have known to respond in that way, would have wanted to respond in that way.

 

_(And maybe he was clutching at straws. Maybe he was looking for things that weren't there. But Prompto's greatest fear had always been being left alone. And being surrounded by people who he recognised, people who he loved, and to have them not know him - that was the greatest torture he could think of._

 

 _The thought, the_ hope _, that he wasn't alone was all-consuming at that moment)_

 

Heart in his throat, Prompto looked up to meet the eyes of the royal next to him. Seeing the confirmation in that gaze - grief and hope and relief and surprise and happiness, the same emotions that Prompto was almost certain were also reflected in his eyes - he joined his best friend in laughter. They both ignored the reactions of everyone around them, too full of relief and hope to do anything but laugh.

 

_(They had lost everything and they had died and now they had woken up again, with no knowledge as to why. It was either laugh or cry._

 

_One was a lot easier to explain to everyone than the other)_

 

They were both alive. They were alive and together and it was before everything had gone to shit. They had a second chance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, Prompto died at around the same time that Noct did - while fighting off the Daemons in the Citadel while Noct walked to his destiny. Then both of our not-so-young heros wake up again, probably at around 16 years old, and have absolutely no idea what the fuck is happening. Neither of them are particularly happy with the way that things played out - Prom has absolutely no plans on letting Noct sacrifice himself again, and Noct doesn't really want to die. So they are going to completely fuck up Bahamut's plans in this. May or may not have an Ardyn redemption arc - like, I love the guy, just not sure if I can write it. Fuck knows that the man has all the reasons to hate the Astrals, and at this point Prom and Noct would probably join him in hating them.
> 
> Next chapter may have some Noct POV of his awakening, depending on how difficult I find that to write, along with maybe some conversations with Iggy and Gladio. May or may not get to them explaining this shit to Regis et al. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, tell me what you think and what you'd like to see.


	2. Noct has a lot of regrets

They get sent out into the hall for disrupting the class, because they can’t seem to stop laughing completely - every time they try they catch sight of each other and it all kicks off again. Hells, they’re still giggling quietly while standing out in the hall, despite the detentions they’ve already gotten.

 

And if those giggles are more the almost-hysterical laughter of two war veterans who can hardly believe this is happening than the light-hearted inside-jokey things of teenage boys, well. They’re probably just lucky that they’re in school and not around people like the Crownsguard who would recognise it as such.

 

Noct knows that he’s going to get in trouble for this later – that Ignis and his dad would be disappointed in him for getting detention on the first day of school, that he’s going to be lectured about being on his best behaviour and how school is important, that they’ll probably make him apologise to the teacher. But, well, he’s finding it really hard to care at the moment.

 

_(Because they’re here_ **.** _Because his dad is still **alive** to be disappointed with him, instead of dead in the ruins of Insomnia – having sacrificed himself so that Noctis would be safe, hasn’t been murdered just for a _ ring _. Because Ignis can still glare at him, isn’t blind anymore due to Noctis’ mistakes – because Noctis wasn’t strong enough._

_Because Gladio hasn’t lost his father yet, because his friends aren’t suddenly 10 years older, because the sun is shining, and Insomnia is still standing, and they aren’t scarred, and they’re all so young and happy._

_Noct would sit through a hundred lectures, as long as he could be near them, as long as he could hold onto this for just a little longer)_

 

It ends up taking them the rest of the period to calm themselves down, as relieved as they are to find that they aren’t the only ones here – Six know that Noct is so glad that Prompto is here, that there’s someone else who knows exactly what is going to happen in the future, how everything goes to shit, and that it’s his _best friend_ just makes it all so much better.

 

_(Noct loves Iggy and Gladio, he does, they’re his brothers. But Prom is his_ best friend _, he’s the one of them who’s best with emotions and he’s the one who understands him the best._

_Because, Iggy and Gladio? They met the Prince first – both of them had been raised to serve him, and the friendship between them had come later. But with Prompto - he’d always been a person to Prom, instead of a Royal, and he had never realised how refreshing that was until he had it. Prom had always been Noctis’ friend first, and the Prince’s protector second._

_And Noct_ needs _a friend right now)_

 

They separate reluctantly for their next classes – History for Noct, and Photography for Prom – because, while Noctis knows that they should try not to arouse any more suspicion until they’ve had a plan, it feels like separating will mean they won’t see each other again – that this is all a dream. In the end, it’s Prompto that convinces him not to just skip the rest of the day – saying that, since it’s the first day, it’d just make everything worse.

 

He doesn’t **want** to agree, but Prom’s right so Noctis goes to history.

 

He’s jittery though, all the way through the class – feeling like he’s going to shake out of his skin and every sudden noise makes him jump. He spends more time watching the clock than he does listening to the teacher, and what notes he has made are just gibberish – which he’ll probably regret later, because he usually likes this class but honestly has no idea what topic they’re even on.

 

After a while, he manages to sort of drift – trying to figure out how they’re going to play this, rearranging what plans he had already made (which wasn’t many) to include Prom, wondering how the fuck this happened and who to blame – which is more difficult than normal because he refuses to pull out his phone, which is his standard time waster.

He even plays around on the thing when he wants to think, just letting muscle memory take over. Normally, it’s relaxing.

_(But Noct thinks he might just break, if he pulls out his phone and sees the lock screen photo of him and his dad._

_Just seeing the good morning text from his dad had sent him into tears this morning, even through the surrealness of his dad wishing him luck for his first day of school when he was pretty sure that both of them were dead._

_Of course, that was after he’d woken to Iggy’s call. Noctis honestly had no idea how he’d gotten through that phone call – he’d answered purely on automatic, almost certain that this entire thing was a dream – without Iggy calling him out on anything more than first-day-of-school nerves._

_He’d had a panic attack, right there in his bedroom, after that call and text._

_Because Noct remembered dying, remembered being impaled to his fathers – not his,_ not really _, he wasn’t going to live long enough for it to be his – throne with the man’s sword. He remembered sacrificing himself, remembered thinking himself ready._

_He remembered the pain as each of those weapons pierced him. He remembered asking his father to make the final blow. And he remembered after – remembered purifying Ardyn, remembered shattering into ashes._

_And those memories had made him throw up)_

_(“Many sacrificed all for the Chosen King; and so must the Chosen King sacrifice themselves for all”_

_“I’m home. I walked tall, and though it took me a while, I’m ready now.”)_

_(It was easy to be ready - when he’d **had** **to be**. _

_When the entire world depended on him sacrificing his life, when his friends were_ dying _outside because he wouldn’t do his duty. It was easy to be ready when he’d just spent ten years – ten years that felt like both a moment and an eternity – trapped in a Crystal with people telling him that it didn’t_ matter _if he was ready, that it’d happen anyway. It was easy to be ready when it was dark and everything had changed and he’d felt alone – it was easy to be ready, when it felt like death was simpler than living._

_It was easy to be ready when he was surrounded by prominent reminders of everyone who had sacrificed themselves for his._

_But, in the light of day – with the sun bright in the sky, with everyone who had died alive, with Insomnia still standing instead of in ruins, with nothing riding on his choice – Noctis wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be the Chosen King, he wasn’t ready to sacrifice himself, he wasn’t ready to do his life all over again._

_He wasn’t ready to_ die _)_

 

\---

 

Eventually, lunch arrives.

 

Noctis automatically heads over to where he and Prom had used to – will? Tenses were really fucking confusing right now – meet up for lunch when they were this age, and it isn’t until he gets there that he realises that they hadn’t actually said where they were going to meet up. He’s just pulling out his phone, hoping against all hopes that he actually remembers Prompto’s phone number from when they were this age, when his best friend appears with a relieved look on his face and phone in hand. Noct grinned.

 

Apparently, they’d both had the same thought.

 

“Noct!” He grinned, bright as the sun in the sky, as he jogged over. “ _Six_ , I’m glad you’re here. I just realised that I have no idea what your number is.”

 

And he reaches out, wrapping Noctis in a hug that he didn’t know he needed. Something in him relaxed, and he felt safe and normal for the first time since he had woken up today – this was why Prom was his best friend, he always knew when Noct needed physical contact but couldn’t ask for it. He just buries his head into his best friend’s shoulder – breathing in the familiar scent of the same strawberry shampoo that Prom had always used, with only a hint of the usual leather – clinging to him as though he was his last hope in the world, glad that Prom was clinging back just as hard.

 

They stayed like that for a few minutes – and, Six, but Noct was glad that nobody ever came around here, that was why they had started eating lunch here in the first place – before slowly separating, not really wanting to but both aware that they had a limited time to talk.

 

"Do you have any idea what’s going on?” He could feel the tension returning to Prom’s body from where they were sitting pressed against each other, using that connection to ground themselves.

 

“I’m assuming you mean the whole ‘time travel’ thing?” Swinging an arm around his shoulder, Noctis grimaced slightly. “Not really.” He shrugged slightly; honestly, he had no idea how this had happened, but he was pretty sure which direction he could point the blame in. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

“The Citadel. You telling us to walk tall. Fighting the daemons with Iggy and Gladio.” Prompto hesitated slightly, and Noct was pretty sure that he knew what he was going to say next. “Dying.”

 

It hit him like a stab to the chest _(and fuck, but that imagery made him cringe internally)_. He’d died. Prompto had **died.** And yeah, Noctis had had an idea that that might be the case – but it didn’t change the fact that his best friend had died. Minutes after the last time he had seen him. Prom had died and _Noct_ _hadn’t been there_.

 

“-athe with me. Come on Noct, breathe with me, I know you can do it. In and out. That’s it. In and out. Thank _fuck_.” He comes to with Prompto crouching in front of him, his hands on his shoulder and their foreheads together as they breathed. “Shit man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think-”

 

Lunging forwards, he yanked him into another hug, cutting him off and feeling the way that they were both shaking. “You _died_.” And, with anyone else, he might feel embarrassed by the whine building in his chest, by the tears burning throat – but this was _Prompto_.

 

_“_ So did _you.”_ Prom was hugging him back just as tight, both of them sniffling and crying and shaking and just trying not to fall completely to pieces. Because they’d both _died_ – both of them. And then they woke up 16 years old – more than 14 years in the past – but they still _remembered_ dying. Noct didn’t want to even think about a world without Prompto, and – judging from the way that he looked – he felt the same. Was this what he had done to his friend, when he’d gone to die? Was this how they had felt? Like someone had stabbed them in the chest and scooped out a part of themselves leaving them feeling hollow, like they wanted to cry and scream and rage and fall apart?

 

_(Noct wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer to that)_

 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, face still wet with his tears. “Was- was I already-” He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not when Prom shook his head rapidly.

 

“No! I mean- I don’t think so,” he said, the words rushed “I mean, I could still access the armiger so I’m pretty sure that you weren’t. But I was pretty out of it in the end, and we were being swarmed by daemons and I lost sight of Iggy and Gladio in the mess. I think I remember my gun shattering just before-”

 

“ ** _Shit._** ” He didn’t want to think about how Iggy and Gladio might have lost them both at the same time.

 

“I **_know._** ”

 

Taking a moment to just look at Prompto – taking in the red eyes and scruffy hair and messed up uniform and the drying tear tracks, and the way that he just looked like a startled chocobo - he started laughing again. “Fuck, we’re a mess aren’t we?”

 

Prom looked him over, and Noct knew that he probably looked just as bad based on the way that he also started laughing. “Hell yeah, we are,” he held out his fist for a bump, which didn’t go at all well – mostly because of how hard they were laughing.

 

They were laughing and then they were crying and then they were laughing and crying – it was both grief and relief, the cathartic type that left you feeling drained and empty but also feeling a little better and more stable.

 

In the end, the thing that broke them out of the cycle of laughter and tears was Prom’s phone going off – a 15-minute warning alarm that he had so that he wouldn’t get distracted taking photos and miss class, which Noct had seen him do multiple times before.

 

“Fuck.” Had they really been here for that long already? And they still needed to talk, they wouldn’t get a chance after school except on their phones. That reminded him, “Give me your phone number before we forget again. I don’t like being out of contact with you.” He said as he swiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks.

 

Prom obviously agreed, by the way that he pulled his phone out and rattled off the number for him to add, before adding the return text to his own phone. As he put it back into his blazer pocket, he looked back to Noctis. “What are we going to do?”

 

He wasn’t talking about class or about staying in contact overnight.

 

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking it over. “We can’t really do all that much by ourselves, not unless we tell someone. But if we tell someone, we risk it getting out and our knowledge being useless.” He glanced over at Prompto. “What do you think?”

 

There was a moment of silence as he thought about it. “I- I think we should tell someone. I mean, we’re like 16 at the minute so there’s not all that much that we can really do without someone older backing us up – and,” he paused a moment, “I don’t think either of us wants to see Insomnia fall again.”

 

He closed his eyes briefly as those words picked at old wounds, and opened them to find Prompto looking apologetic but resolute. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d said, just that he’d had to say it. “But it’s your choice Noct. You know that I’d follow you anywhere, no matter what you choose. And we don’t have to make this decision now, we can wait a couple weeks and think about it then.”

 

_If whatever this is hasn’t worn off by then._ Was what they were both thinking but wouldn’t say. Still, Prom’s faith always warmed him – as much as it frightened him at times.

 

_(He couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t_ worth _these people putting their faith in him, these people who trusted him completely even though they knew him. What had he done, for these people to believe in him?)_

 

Another minute of silence passed, with Noctis staring at a wall while trying to see all of the possible avenues. “Alright,” He said seriously, watching as Prompto straightened up at his tone of voice. “We tell someone, someone who we trust, and see if we can change things that way.”

 

Prom’s phone buzzed again, the 5-minute warning to the end of the break. He thumbed it off absentmindedly. “Who do we tell?”

 

“Who else,” he stood up, grabbing his bag from where it had been tossed at some point. “We go straight to the top.” Giving Prompto a hand up, he grimaced but strengthened his resolve. “We tell my dad.”

 

He nodded but didn’t say anything else, just throwing an arm around his shoulder in a quick hug – knowing how much the idea affected him. Noct was glad, he really didn’t want to say anything right now.

 

They had to run to class, one that they both shared, and ended up being late by a couple minutes anyway, but Noct didn’t really care. He sat where his teacher told him to, got his books out, and didn’t really pay any attention – just going through the motions.

 

Later, when they were changing to their next classes, Noctis pulled out his phone and sent a text to the newest number. It only contained a single word – tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow they would speak to his dad.

 

\---

 

When Noctis was twenty - when he was young and _angry_ and **_grieving_** and didn't want to admit the truth - he had hated his father. He had hated his father for sending him away instead of letting him stay and help, he had hated his father for choosing to sacrifice the lives of their people to save him, he had hated his father for never telling him what it meant to be the Chosen King. He had hated his father for **_dying._**

 

_(But, most of all, he had hated that he had never had the chance to say_ goodbye _)_

 

Noct had hated his father, right up until he realised that he couldn't remember the last words that he had said to him.

 

_(Up until Luna died. Up until he failed. Until he couldn't put on the ring and he was losing his friends one by one. Until he realised that he disgraced both Lucis and his father by his actions)_

 

Then he started to hate himself.

 

Because Regis' last words to him had been full of love and trust and hope - they were the words of a father that knew he would never see his son again but didn't want to mention it to him. And those words would always be etched into his memories, giving him a source of comfort even on the darkest of nights. But Noct - who hadn't had that knowledge, who in his opinion was being sent off to be out of the way, who was traveling to reunite with an old friend for the first time - while he couldn't remember his response, was certain that it was irreverent and short and with only a fraction of the emotion in his father’s words, instead of the "I love you" that he will always wish he had said.

 

Knowing that, Noct hated himself more than he'd thought himself capable of. More than he ever would.

 

He was wrong.

 

_("Kings of Lucis! Come to me!"_

 

_The way that his dad had flinched with every blow, almost as though the man was taking them with Noctis. The way that he had curled into himself more each time, looking less and less like the strong, regal man that Noctis had grown up with._

 

_All of that,_ all of it _, was Noctis' fault)_

 

**_("Dad, trust in me.")_ **

 

_(He had basically forced his dad into taking the sword - knowing that the man would never deny him anything._

 

_He had asked his dad to trust him, had asked him to make the blow, had asked him to_ **kill** _his only son._

 

_It was_ necessary, _Noct knew, to complete the prophecy - to bring about the dawn and remove the Scourge the Chosen King must die at his father's hand. But at that moment, he had never hated himself more._

 

_Because he had forced Regis Lucis Caelum to do the one thing he would never do, had forced his hand and used the love that his father had for him against him._

 

_He had told his father to kill him, and the man complied. But Noct would never be able to think of his father again without the memory of the final blow and the look in his father's eyes as he made it - without the overwhelming_ guilt _that came with the knowledge that he had **made** his dad do that)_

 

It was more than possible for Noctis to hate himself more than he had when he was 20. That much was obvious to him, when he woke up in his bed in a city long destroyed.

 

Noctis hated himself - despised himself for what he had made his father do - but he had a second chance, and if that was the only cost of making sure that this never happened again. Well.

 

He could look his father in the eye and pretend that he didn't hate himself, just for a little while.

 

_(maybe one day it would even be true)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me a while, I ended up neck deep in other AU's for like, a month, and didn't touch this one.
> 
> At least part of the next chapter will be in Regis' POV - because I wanna explore what the boys look like from an outside perspective.
> 
> I'm going to be without wifi until the 4th of August, so definitely no updates until then. Anyway, hope you like it.


	3. The Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Many sacrificed all for the Chosen King; so must the Chosen King sacrifice himself for all."

The door to his office opened without warning, cutting Clarus’ report off mid-word. Regis watched in surprise as his son walked in without a second thought, closing the door behind him absently, his head down and eyes on the ground. "Noctis. You're early."

 

His son jolted, seemingly surprised, and hesitated a second before he finally glanced up at them.

 

Regis' heart stopped.

 

Because, for a single moment - before his son had masked his expression, with a skill that Regis didn't know his son had developed, that he had hoped his son would never _need_ to develop - his son had looked at him with such _grief_ and _loss_ and _heartbreak_ that it made Regis want to **_weep_**. His son had looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time in years, like he wanted nothing more than to cling to his father and never let go, like he had done something irredeemable and fully expected Regis to hate him for it, like he had expected to never see him again.

 

Noctis had looked at him like he would disappear at any moment, like he was nothing more than a ghost, and part of Regis despaired.

 

A glance over at Clarus showed that his old friend was just as alarmed as he felt, confirming that they had both seen that horrible expression that had lasted for less than a second. Regis focused back on his son - looking him over properly this time, with an experienced eye of both a father and a King.

 

And then he had to swallow back his rage. Because this wasn't the same boy who had been in this office not 2 days ago - who had been so excited for starting public school but was trying to hide it because he was a teenager, who was nervous about being around people and just wanted to make friends but it was always awkward because of who he was and Regis had always hated that his son could never have that, who had been happy to spend time with his dad but tried not to show it, who was more a teen than a Prince most of the time.

 

He'd known that something was different - that much had been obvious when Noctis had asked for this meeting via text just yesterday evening. But he wasn't expecting _this._

 

_(There had been something off, in the texts that Noctis had sent him yesterday. Nothing bad. Nothing specific. Nothing that Regis could place his finger on - just that the tone of them was_ different _._

 

_He had put it down to nerves - much like Ignis had when Regis had asked how Noct was faring - in the morning, and then later he had attributed the differences to Noctis' new friend that he had apparently made. There didn't seem to be anything actually wrong, so Regis had written it off - assuming that Noctis would tell him in his own time and that he was just trying to keep this new friend as much to himself as was possible._

 

_Now, he wished that he'd pushed)_

 

Because whatever had happened, in the time since he had seen him last, had _broken_ his boy.

 

Noctis - his baby boy, his and Aulea's only child, his sweet son who used to curl up on his lap and ‘help’ him with paperwork and eventually would grow into the Chosen King - was pale, with bags under his eyes that spoke of nightmares and sleepless nights and wordless terror. Who was tense and twitchy, almost battle ready, and walked as though he held the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

Noctis who had eyes that were dark with shadows and a horrible, terrible _knowledge_.

 

"Noct?" His voice came out hoarse and disbelieving, what had _happened_ to his son since he had last seen him?

 

"Dad," Noctis said, no emotion in his voice and, even outside of that odd occurrence _(because so often his sons’ heart was in his voice and his eyes, ever since he was young all you would have to do was look into his eyes or listen to him speak to know how he felt, but both were shuttered to him now and it made Regis_ ache _at the sight of this stranger in his sons body)_ , the word itself sounded strange - foreign on his son's tongue, almost as though he hadn't spoken it aloud in a while or the word brought him pain. He was gripping onto his phone in his hand like it was a lifeline, knuckles white and hands shaking slightly, and seemed to be unable to look at him directly – his gaze kept flickering from his face to the wall and back to his face over and over again. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again - as though he had no idea what to say next.

 

Clarus, frowning severely, stood from his seat. "Your Highness?" He asked gently, watching as the boy whom he had helped to raise almost jumped out of his skin at the question.

 

Regis exchanged another look with his Shield, worry growing. Something was very wrong, and they had no idea what.

 

He watched as his son glanced down at his phone, grip loosening just the slightest amount, and then he glanced up at them again with those horrible dark eyes. Then, he smiled, a mockery of the bright grin that he used to give them when they had returned from trips when he was younger, bitter and cold and broken and full of grief and fear and pain. It was an old grin, one more often found on the faces of old veterans who had lost everything, and it broke something inside of them to see it on Noctis’ young face. _They were meant to_ protect _him._ "I walked tall, dad."

 

The words had an odd echo to them, as though Noctis was quoting something that Regis didn’t recognise, and there was a bittersweet cast to his face. He swallowed, the expression on his sons face alongside his tone of voice were as heartbreaking as they were confusing. "Noctis?"

 

A beat of silence, as his son glanced around the office with something almost melancholic in his gaze, before his blue eyes - the beautiful eyes that his baby boy had inherited from his mother, normally so bright and shining with life and youth but now dark and dull and heavy with those horrible shadows - locked onto his own. " _Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all."_ He quoted bitterly.

 

The words hit him like a blow to the chest, and he staggered back in his chair, breathless as he stared at his son with wide eyes. Those words – words that had haunted him, both while awake and in his dreams, ever since the crystal had chosen his five-year-old son – echoed in his mind.

 

“Noct-.” He cut himself off, unable to think of anything to say.

 

And then suddenly, as Noct looked at him with tears in his eyes as he hunched into himself, Regis could see his son again in this weary broken man standing in front of him. He could see the boy that he had been beginning to think lost – buried under pain and guilt and bitterness and a weight on his shoulders that seemed to have come from nowhere – past everything else, and it broke Regis’ heart a little more.

 

_Oh, Aulea, how he had failed their son._

 

“I don’t- I don’t want to die, dad. Please, I don’t want to die.”

 

He moved so fast that he may as well have warped, launching himself over his desk – and how he was going to regret that later, when his joints chose to complain – and wrapping his arms around his shaking son even as Noctis continued to babble into his shoulder, ignoring the tears that he could feel.

 

“I don’t want to die, please don’t make me do it. Please, dad, it’s so cold and it’s scary and it’s so dark and it _hurts,_ and I don’t want to die again, say I don’t have to die again, _please_ …”

 

For a moment Noctis clung to him, grabbing his shirt in his fists as he shook and begged, and Regis meet the eyes of his Shield over his sons head – seeing the same shock and heartbreak on Clarus’ face that Regis was certain was on his own. They had never wanted this for him, had wanted him to grow up free and unburdened by the prophecy, and the boy sobbing into his chest was still so _young_.

 

And then his son was pushing him away, taking a step back and swiping at his eyes roughly.

 

“Sorry.” He muttered as he squared his shoulders and his body slowly stopped trembling. “I- uh. _Shit_. Why is this always so _hard?_ Fuck.”

 

_Language_ , he opened his mouth to say automatically, when Clarus cut him off with narrowed eyes.

 

“Always, Highness? Have you spoken with Gladiolus and Ignis about the prophecy?”

 

It was a good question, one that Regis suddenly found himself wondering about as well. Why had Noctis used always?

 

Neither of them expected the bitter, broken laugh that burst out of Noctis at the question. “No,” He said at bit breathlessly, a wry twist to his lips. “Not yet.”

 

What he’d said was the truth, because Regis _knows_ what his son looked like when he lied, and he’d answered Clarus’ question truthfully _(but would he even recognise any lies that this version of his son, so different from the boy that he knows, told? No, Regis has to believe that he hadn’t changed that much, that he still knows his son)_ , but something about it – about the way that Noctis had said it, about the grief and bitter loss and regret in his voice, about the wild darkness in his eyes and the shadows on his face – rung false.

 

It’s as though Noctis wanted to believe that he had already told them and that he hadn’t was breaking his heart.

 

He resisted the urge to pull his son back into his arms only because there was something in his stance that told Regis that he wouldn’t allow it – something in the way that he held himself, tense and hunched in, that told him that Noctis would push him away. _(Only because there was something, some instinct in the back of his mind, some impression from the bond that their magic shared, that told him that his son would_ shatter _if Regis moved to wrap his arms around his son again)_

 

“I am sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and bowing his head against the wave of regret that rolled through him and so missing the look of pure _horror_ that flashed across Noctis’ face. “Noctis, I am so _sorry_. I should have told you myself, not left you to find the prophecy out on your own. But I was a coward and I kept it from you to spare myself.”

 

“No!”

 

He startled, eyes flying open to look at his son. Noctis had taken a step forwards, a desperate look on his face, hand outstretched slightly as though he wanted to reach for Regis but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

 

“No. _Fuck_ , dad. It isn’t your fault. You were just trying to protect me. I don’t blame you for not telling me about the prophecy, I’ve _never_ blamed you for not telling me that I had to die to save the world. It’s not your fault!”

 

Regis stared wide-eyed at his son for a long moment, shocked by the vehemence in his voice, before his eyes narrowed as he processed the words. “Never? Noctis, what do you mean by you’ve _never_ blamed me?”

 

“And earlier,” Clarus interjected with a thoughtful frown, peering at Noctis. “You said ‘always’.”

 

“Yes, you did. Noctis, what _happened_ to you?”

 

His son paused, staring at them both with wide eyes that made him seem so _young_ , and his hand dropped back to his side. His gaze dropped to the floor, fists unclenching and clenching as he bit his lip, before he seemed to make a decision. Noctis looked up again, meeting their eyes, and this time the shadows in his blue eyes were so dark they were practically black.

 

“You died.” He froze at his son’s quiet words, unable to look away from his son’s haunted gaze. _He_ had died? “You _died_ , dad! And so did you!” Noctis gestured wildly at Clarus as his voice rose, seemingly unable to stop now that he had started talking. “Insomnia _fell_ and you both _died,_ and I _didn’t know what to do!_ You died, and Luna died, and then there was the prophecy, and I didn’t have a _choice_ – it was me or the world and they’d already suffered for so long because I wasn’t _strong enough_ and I had to help them. I had to! And it _hurt_ , dad!” And now his son was looking at him, tears shining in his eyes. “I _died,_ and it hurt _so much.”_

 

All he could do was stare in horror, abruptly reminded of his son’s earlier words – words that he’d overlooked in his desperation to comfort him.

 

_(Please dad, it’s so cold and it’s scary and it’s so dark and it_ hurts _, and I don’t want to die again, say I don’t have to die again,_ please _…)_

 

Bile rose in his throat and all he wanted was for his son to stop talking, but still, Noctis continued.

 

“I thought I was _ready_ , dad. I wanted to make you proud and I thought I was ready, but I _wasn’t_ and then I woke up and I’m _16_ and I can’t do it again. Please don’t make me do it again. Dad, _please.”_

 

Noctis had _died_ and Regis wanted to be sick – his baby boy had died for the prophecy, had died because he wanted to make _Regis proud_ , and he had never hated himself more. He reached out for his son but Noctis pulled back, shaking his head rapidly. Still, he couldn’t make himself move – his arm hanging in the air, half extended towards his son, as his mouth opened and closed in silence.

 

What was he supposed to say?

 

Clarus stepped up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Regis leaned back into him – grounding himself on the familiar presence of his Shield at his side, letting the unspoken promise in the touch comfort him. “Time travel, Noctis?” He asked softly, trying not to startle the boy who looked like he was holding on by a thread.

 

The teenager visibly pulled himself together, with far more control than he would have had mere days previously – and how had they not noticed? Noctis was so _different_ , how had they not realised the second that he had walked into the room? – and stood straight, looking every inch the Prince _(the King, if they had died then he would have been a_ King _)_ that he was despite his red face and tear tracks and his hair in disarray.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking at them and relaxing slightly when he saw whatever it was he was looking for. “Yes. We have no idea how it happened, but when you wake up over a decade in the past, alive when you remember dying, then really the only viable options are time travel or losing your mind. We’re fairly certain that it isn’t the latter.” He said, a faint smirk on his lips – a shadow of his cheeky grin, the same one that he’d inherited from him, but enough to make Regis relax a hair, slumping into Clarus’ hold as he closed his eyes in relief.

 

His son was still in there. He might be war-weary and traumatised, might have enough shadows in his eyes to make Regis want to _weep_ , but the boy that he had raised was still there.

 

Anything else he could deal with.

 

“We?” Regis opened his eyes again at Clarus’ question, watching as his son nodded.

 

“Prom and I.”

 

They stared blankly at him for a moment, unable to place the name, before Regis straightened slightly, frowning in thought. “Prom – Prompto Argentum? Your new friend?”

 

For a moment, Noctis looked surprised at their reactions, before realisation dawned. “I- yeah. Prom’s my best friend, he came back with me.” He hesitated, as though about to say more before he closed his mouth again.

 

Regis nodded. “And you said that you came back after your,” he paused a second, before pushing down the part of him that was a father in the face of the King. “death? Is the same true for him as well?”

 

“As far as we can figure, Prom told me that he blacked out with a mortal wound at around the same time that I died. We can’t be certain, but the fact that we’re both here and not any of the others leads us to believe that both things happened at the same time.” Noctis shrugged slightly, as though he wasn’t talking about something that had obviously shaken him.

 

And – as much as the part of Regis that was Noctis’ father wanted to call him out for that, no matter how much he wanted to his son talk to him, as proud as he was of the man in front of him even though he already hated the circumstances that had led to it – the King in Regis understood that.

 

He reached up, gripping Clarus’ hand against his shoulder briefly in a gesture of comfort for them both, before he braced himself and straightened up fully.

 

“What can you tell us?” His son looked at them both intently for a second, taking in their serious expressions, before he bowed his head in acquiescence. “Everything began around 4 years from now, when Niflheim offers a treaty…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I got bogged down with everything and then hit writer's block pretty hard for this and I only just got over it. I post snippets and worldbuilding for various au's semi-regularly on my tumblr - which is the same user as this - if anyone is interested.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, tell me what you think, thanks for reading :)


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